


Pharmacy

by punkpasta



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: I KNOW ITS TAGGED AS EDDIE/RICHIE BUT IT IS NOT GOING TO DELIVER THAT, M/M, implied Eddie/Bill, oh this is self indulgent and sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpasta/pseuds/punkpasta
Summary: its angst!!! its sad!!! rated for language!! Eddie works in a drugstore at the pharmacy counter!!!





	Pharmacy

It had been almost ten years. Ten years since that summer. Ten years since his broken arm. Ten years, and Eddie still saw melting faces in his dreams. Maybe in another life, he would have left- he would have gone to Boston, or maybe the outskirts of Chicago, or even New York City. In some other life, he would have forgotten. He would sleep soundly, in his bed. When Eddie Kaspbrak imagined these other lives, lives where he left Derry far behind him, he never had a wife. He always imagined himself alone, with his medicines and his colorless bedroom. 

In the other lives, his mother hadn’t died. And he had left the whole goddamned state. In the other lives, he might be happy. In the other lives, he might have Richie. 

Eddie Kaspbrak woke up alone, tangled in his bedspread. He plodded down the hall and found the only other person who stayed- Mike. Making breakfast. He nodded to Mike, and continued to the bathroom. 

Iron supplement. Vitamin D. Allergy medication. Acetaminophen. Lactaid. Vitamin C. Calcium. Electrolyte tablet. Zinc. Day-time cold capsule. Inhaler puff, just for good measure. 

He passed Mike again on his way back to his bedroom. Yellow shirt, brown pants, black socks, dark brown shoes, belt. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times. 

Mike was reading the paper when Eddie came back and started picking at his wheat toast. 

“Did you know eggs over easy can still cause salmonella?” He hadn’t meant to say it. Mike just raised his eyebrows and continued scanning the obituaries- it was a habit of his. “At least someone’s remembering them,” Mike would say. At least someone would know. 

Eddie drove his housemate to the library, and then to his own job behind the counter at the new drugstore. 

In another life, he’d drop Richie or Bill off. He’d come home to someone. He had Mike, which was something. A friend who knew. But still, just a friend. 

He filled prescriptions for people he didn’t know. Sometimes, he saw shadows of his old friends in the kids who came in- girls with curly hair and levis, hoping for a pack of cigarettes and leaving with nail polish. Boys with armfuls of candy. The way the florescent lights looked on someone’s hair- Bill Denbrough. Eddie had read all of Bill’s books, stared at the pictures on the inside of the cover, trying to reason the evolution of the boy he’d loved into this man, who married a girl who looked like Beverly and wrote horror stories. Eddie rarely let himself imagine a world where he had Big Bill- maybe Bill was easier to forget about loving. Maybe Bill was easier to let go of.

Then someone would come in the store. Black hair flopping in their eyes, stupid-looking shirt, lopsided smile. That was the hardest- maybe he felt like he’d been punched when he saw shadows of Ben and Mike and Stan and Bev, when he rang up paperbacks and notebooks and maps and lucky strikes and saltwater taffy and postcards. Maybe he felt like he was bleeding out when he saw shadows of Bill. but he could have sworn he was dying every time something looked like Richie Tozier. 

Eddie shook his hair away from his eyes. His knuckles went white against the pharmacy counter. 

“Hey, can I get a pack of Lucky Strikes?” The man on the other side of the counter grinned. The bright white lights overhead reflected off his coke-bottle glasses. Eddie nodded, his eyes stuck on the man’s teeth-  _ bucky beaver teeth _ , Eddie thought.  _ Impossible. _ He grabbed the pack of cigarettes and turned back to the counter.  _ Tall. thin. Black hair coke bottle glasses bucky beaver teeth.  _

“ID p-please?” Eddie’s hand shook. 

“Ooh. I’m flattered.” The man flipped open his wallet. Pulled out a California driver’s license. Eddie stopped breathing. 

“I promise I’m better looking in person.” Richie Tozier chuckled, tossing a five and three ones onto the counter. He scooped the cigarettes and his license from Eddie’s frozen hands. “Keep the change. You know, I grew up near here. Never thought I’d be passing through again. I guess that’s just how it be sometimes.” He’d slipped into some unrecognizable accent. Eddie was still frozen behind the counter when Richie turned to look over his shoulder as he left.

“You look familiar. Were we in school together?” 

_ Say something. Say something, please. Anything. Say something you useless fucking pussy. _

“Ah, nevermind. See you, Eddie.”  _ Name tag. He saw the name tag and still didn’t remember me.  _ “I think I had a friend named Eddie when I was a kid. Called him Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie shook his head, his curls falling loose around his ears. “Don’t know why I’m telling you this. Thanks for the smokes.”

The bell jingled as the door swung shut. Eddie walked to the front of the store, flipped the sign in the window to closed, and walked back to the stool behind his pharmacy counter. 

Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto his apron and the countertop. He wiped them away. 


End file.
